


the whispering waves

by Stairre



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, But also, Cultural Differences, Discussion of Soulmate AU implications, Don't copy to another site, Finrod is the real MVP here, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, MerMay, Not quite a trope deconstruction though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23953909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stairre/pseuds/Stairre
Summary: Three months ago, Fingon should have drowned. And he didn't. Now he wants to find out how. But, perhaps, the question he should really be asking iswho?---In which the author suddenly realises that it's MerMay and maybe they should post that Merman!Maedhros fic they have languishing on their computer. Also: soulmates.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 13
Kudos: 71





	the whispering waves

**  
the whispering waves  
  
**

**-  
  
**

“Fingon,” Finrod huffed out, “are you _sure_ it was here?”  
  


Fingon looked over to his cousin. “ _Yes_ , Finrod,” he answered, turning his attention back to the rope in his hands. “It was about here.”  
  


His other cousin, Aegnor, snorted from over by the bow of the small sailing yacht. “Good memory, then,” he commented. “Considering that it was near dusk when you went over. And that it was nearly three months ago.”   
  


Fingon grimaced at the memory. So did Finrod.  
  
  
“Stop that,” Finrod told his brother. “We were so lucky that day. It’s a miracle that Fingon is even still willing to get on this boat.”  
  


Aegnor winced. “Sorry, Fingon.”  
  
  
“Don’t worry,” Fingon said, even as he pushed away the memory. “Just – let’s not talk about it, all right?” Both Finrod and Aegnor nodded, though Finrod shot him a worried look when he thought that Fingon couldn’t see.  
  
  
Fingon would have loved to tell his cousin that he needn’t be so worried, except that he himself was still a little (or a lot) nervous about once again sailing out on the boat he had just recently gone overboard on.  
  
  
The sudden storm had caught him, Finrod and Finrod’s sister Galadriel by complete surprise, it had blown in so fast. His two cousins had managed to get their harnesses on in time – but the boat had hit the crest of a wave very roughly, and nearly capsized before Fingon could attach his. He had gone overboard instantly.  
  
  
That was three months ago. And even now, Fingon still couldn’t work out what had saved him.  
  
  
He remembered the rushing white of the water, the sting of the salt in his eyes, the water in his lungs. He remembered flailing, blind and unable to breathe. Drowning.  
  
  
He remembered feeling something – something gripping him, pulling him, and then _pushing.  
_  
  
And then his cousins had their hands upon him, pulling him the rest of the way onto their family’s sailing yacht, the _Silver Star_. He remembered choking up the sea water, Finrod pounding on his back as Galadriel took control of the boat, his cousins’ frantic words as they tried to keep his attention on them.  
  
  
They’d gone straight back to the harbour, his uncle and aunt already waiting there nervously, watching the storm and helping pull the boat in safely. When it was secured, they’d taken him straight to the hospital. He’d had to have the very last of the water pumped from his lungs, and they’d kept him for several hours to monitor him, but at the end of the day he’d accompanied his cousins back to their home and promptly had a steaming hot bath and a warm meal.  
  
  
And when he relayed what he remembered of the entire incident, nobody could figure out what had saved him.  
  
  
Hence why, three months later (when he’d finally gotten up the courage to set foot on the _Silver Star_ again) they were back again at the location Fingon remembered them being at during his near-drowning experience.  
  
  
Finrod looked around, “I still don’t see what landmarks you’re using to figure out our position,” he grumbled. “I was there as well, and I don’t see anything.”  
  
  
Aegnor mumbled, “Then how did you know the way back to the harbour?”  
  
  
Finrod squatted at the back of his brother’s head. “The electronic map, idiot.”  
  
  
Fingon rolled his eyes at his cousins and pointed. “See that hill?”  
  
  
Finrod looked over to him and then squinted in the direction Fingon was pointing. “… Yeah?” It was very distant. They were quite far from land.  
  
  
“I remember the sun setting just behind it. I was watching it when the storm blew in.” Fingon explained.  
  
  
Finrod made a noise of understanding. “We were lucky that we weren’t over-far from the harbour,” he said, voice hushed. “And that the GPS wasn’t disrupted.”  
  
  
Nobody answered Finrod’s mumblings, mostly because they didn’t want to think about it themselves.  
  
  
“… So here’s where you got pushed up onto the boat?” Aegnor finally said, trying to dispel the hush that had fallen over the boat.  
  
  
“Yes,” Fingon said, relieved. “I felt something grip me, and then I was being pushed and pulled. The next thing I knew, Galadriel and Finrod had me.”  
  
  
Finrod nodded. “We were calling out for him,” he added. “And trying to keep the boat from drifting too far away. But we weren’t very successful. When Fingon suddenly appeared, half-hung over the side, we just pulled him up. We were too relieved to think of how he’d done it. We were easily a couple hundred metres away from where he’d gone over.”  
  
  
“There was something in the water,” Fingon murmured, eyes staring into the deep blue waves. “Something in there saved me.” The three fell once again into silence.   
  
  
Then Aegnor snorted. “Maybe you have a mermaid admirer,” he teased, trying to make light of the bleakness that had fallen over the other two on the boat. “You’d better tell her that she’d have better luck if she were a mer _man_ , Fingon, before you lead her on!”  
  
  
Finrod barked out a startled laugh while Fingon blinked.  
  
  
“If that were true,” Finrod began, “then Fingon still has more luck than you! How’s Andreth, Aegnor?”  
  
  
Fingon laughed as Aegnor spluttered over his failings to woo his illustrious lady love, listening to his cousins tease each other as he returned to watching the water.  
  
  
Underneath the lapping waves, Fingon thought that he could see a dark shape. But when he looked again, it was gone.  
  


  
– 

  
  
This is the thing: Fingon has always felt eyes on him whenever he went out with his cousins on their sailing yacht.  
  
  
His uncle Finarfin and Aunt Eärwen had bought the boat when Fingon was fourteen. He’d been fifteen when he’d first been given the chance to sail on it with his cousins. He was currently twenty-two.   
  
  
For nearly seven years now, he’d felt watched when out on the sea. Never maliciously, he’d never felt unsafe in any way. Just… aware. Aware that there was something – or someone – out there.  
  
  
And whatever it was, it had saved his life. Of that, Fingon had no doubt.   
  
  
But he’d never mentioned it to anyone. To do so now would be strange, suspicious.  
  
  
The gaze had always felt a little like a guardian of some kind, though over time the feel of it had changed. When he was younger, it had felt like being watched over by Finrod, who was Fingon’s only experience of an older relative that wasn’t an adult. But when he got older, when he hit nineteen or twenty, it had changed somehow, in some indescribable way.  
  
  
Nowadays, whenever he was out on the water, he felt the gaze down to his soul. His skin felt electric under his clothes, he was hyper-aware of everything he said or did. Not intimidating, never intrusive, but still somehow intimate.  
  
  
Yeah. Even as Fingon thought it all through in his head, he knew that he could never articulate this out to anyone. How could they understand?  
  
  
There was a reason he’d stayed single, not experimenting with a relationship longer than a single night, even while away at university. And those were very few and far between, and he’d always felt unspeakably guilty afterwards, as though he were betraying some non-existent lover.   
  
  
_Damn it,_ Fingon thought. _I really need to get my head on straight.  
_  
  
And really, who or what was he ‘betraying’? A nameless, faceless gaze from the depths of the sea, which might exist only in Fingon’s head?  
  
  
But something had saved his life that evening three months ago.  
  
  
All this gaze business might be in his head, and he might be attributing emotions that didn’t exist to it, but that was still one fact that couldn’t be denied.  
  
  
He should have died; drowned in the sea three months back.  
  
  
And he didn’t.  
  


  
–   
  


  
They went back out four days later.  
  
  
Again, it was Finrod, Aegnor and Fingon. They sailed back out to the same spot, though they were all sure that they would again see nothing. After all, if there was anything to see, then it would be beneath the surface.  
  
  
And that, Finrod said, was why he’d brought along some of their diving equipment.  
  
  
Aegnor and Fingon looked over to him in shock. “You did?” Aegnor asked, adjusting the sail. They were nearly there.  
  
  
Finrod hummed an agreement. “It’s in the cabin,” he said, gesturing. “I thought that we might want to take a quick trip under, to see if we could see anything.”  
  
  
Fingon bit his lip. It was hard enough being on the boat. He didn’t want to be back in the water.  
  
  
Finrod saw. “Don’t worry,” he told Fingon, “you don’t have to go. There’s only one set anyway. You can watch through the camera in the cabin.”  
  
  
Fingon breathed out, the sound becoming a relieved sigh. Finrod smiled reassuringly at him, while Aegnor nodded and didn’t speak.  
  
  
“Okay,” Fingon agreed. “But which of you will go?”  
  
  
Finrod was about to answer when Aegnor called to them. “Look!”  
  
  
They both glanced over. Aegnor was pointing out to something, face twisted in anger.  
  
  
Out on the sea was a line of orange floats, stretching quite far along. Fingon recognised it as the top of a fishing-net, but was confused at the anger now present in both of his cousins’ faces.  
  
  
Again, Finrod saw. “This is a protected area,” he explained as they pulled the boat up alongside the net. “They’re not supposed to fish here at this time of year. There are a few endangered species that use this part of the coast as their spawning grounds.”  
  
  
Aegnor nodded in agreement. “We have to cut the net,” he said, “and report it back at the harbour. We’ll make a marker on our electronic map, so we can show them where it was.”  
  
  
Finrod nodded to his brother. “Take some pictures, too,” he added. Then he turned to Fingon. “Sorry,” he said. “I think this trip is going to be cut a little short.”  
  
  
Fingon’s lips quirked upwards. He answered, “No pun intended.”  
  
  
Finrod blinked and then chuckled. “No,” he said, “No pun intended.”  
  
  
Fingon helped Aegnor drop the anchor while Finrod changed into the scuba gear in the cabin. Then the two settled down on the wooden benches inside the cabin as Finrod rolled overboard to begin cutting the net. When the rush of white bubbles cleared, they watched through the small camera as Finrod set about diving to the bottom.  
  
  
Fingon twitched at the sight of the dark depths, the shadows outside of the little light’s illumination seeming grasping and ominous to his eyes. Aegnor nudged his shoulder. “You all right?” his cousin asked.  
  
  
“Not really,” Fingon muttered. “But I’ll survive.”  
  
  
Aegnor made a non-committal noise but didn’t push. Fingon was thankful. On the small screen, they watched Finrod take out a diving knife and begin the cut away the weights holding the net to the bottom.  
  
  
“We’ll have to leave the weights there,” Aegnor said to him, “but we’ll take the net. That’s what’s going to do the harm. Coastguard can get the weights later.”  
  
  
Fingon nodded, throat tight. In the very corner of the screen, just beyond where Finrod’s light ended, he thought he could see a dark shape…  
  
  
And then it disappeared, and the net _moved_.  
  
  
Aegnor made a noise of surprise and the two of them watched Finrod back up quickly. The net floated in the water, nearly two-thirds of the weights gone, and the loose netting being pulled away by the weight of something caught beyond Finrod’s light.   
“Fuck,” Aegnor muttered. “There’s something big in that net. Finrod’ll have to be careful.”  
  
  
Even as he said it, they watched Finrod begin to slowly swim closer, trying to fiddle with his light to get a better look at what he was dealing with. But every time he moved it, the shape twisted away farther, avoiding the light.  
  
  
Finrod quickly stopped, and backed away again.  
  
  
“He doesn’t want to distress the creature further,” Aegnor explained, watching intently. “It’s just getting more tangled in its struggles. We might have to pull the net up and cut it free on the boat – or if it’s injured enough, take it back to harbour.”  
  
  
Fingon nodded in understanding, watching as Finrod tried one more time to get in closer, but fell back again when the dark shape tried to escape the light, clearly twisting itself farther into the net.  
  
  
Fingon’s heart juddered in his chest as bubbles began to fill the screen once again.  
  
  
“Yeah,” Aegnor said, standing. “He’s coming back up.”  
  
  
Fingon followed his cousin out of the cabin and back onto the deck. Several minutes passed before Finrod broke the surface, reaching up for the side of the boat. Fingon and Aegnor helped to pull him back on.  
  
  
“I don’t know what’s in that net,” Finrod said as he pulled the mouthpiece out, “but it’s big. Probably a seal. Maybe a shark. I couldn’t get a good look at it.”   
  
  
Aegnor nodded. “Go change,” he said. “The net’ll be heavy, even with all three of us.”  
  
  
Finrod nodded and ducked into the cabin. Aegnor began to clear the deck of anything loose, shoving boxes under benches and making sure that the deck was entirely clear. Fingon stood around, unsure of how to help.  
  
  
Finally, Aegnor was done, returning to glare at the orange floats on the water, no longer in a neat line but still bobbing on the waves. A couple of minutes later, Finrod joined them, wet hair tied back behind his head.  
  
  
They began to pull the net up, it at first coming easily, the part that Finrod had bereft of its weights. But then the struggle began; all three of them huffed as the net suddenly tried to pull itself from their hands, the struggles of the creature trapped in it almost giving their palms rope burn.  
  
  
But soon they were making progress, the strength of three young men in good physical fitness enough to pull it up. Fingon watched as the flailing shape drew closer to the surface. It really was big, larger than a seal. Fingon wondered if it was a shark, like Finrod had suggested, but it was the wrong shape…  
  
  
And then it broke the surface, and the first thing Fingon saw was red hair and pale skin.  
  
  
And then the long red tail.  
  
  
Finrod gasped and Aegnor bit out half of a curse, but Fingon was silently spellbound.  
  
  
It was no seal, no shark, in the net.  
  
  
It was a _merman.  
_  
  
A merman with long red hair to go with his long red tail, pale skin over thick cords of muscle. Fingon struggled to draw his gaze away from the bare torso, to look at the merman in his face, but when he managed it he couldn’t look away.  
  
  
Silver eyes that seemed to gleam with some inner light met his. A strong jaw line and a very handsome face. A long neck where Fingon could see the almost invisible flaps of gills. Ears that were pointed and finned, dark red at the tips with scales scattering where they met the skin. Those same dark red scales were also scattered along the arms and abdomen of the merman, the hands tipped with black talons, but too entangled to be of any use.  
  
  
And then the moment ended when his cousins lost their grip on the net and the merman dropped with it back into the water.  
They quickly readjusted, pulling the net back up with raw hands. The merman had stopped struggling, but he was still very heavy. Fingon could hear Finrod’s short and quick breaths in his ears, and Aegnor’s murmured mantra of _‘oh my God, oh my God, oh my God’_ , but he paid them little notice.  
  
  
The merman did not struggle when they pulled him onto the deck. He and Fingon were too busy staring into each other’s eyes. Fingon felt frightened to look away, to even blink, in case the merman disappeared.  
  
  
Here, on the deck, blood ran down from the wounds the net had caused in a multitude of red rivulets. The merman was truly entangled, to the point that not even his talons were in a position to help slice him free. His tail was long, nearly thrice as long as his human half, and he therefore took up nearly the entire deck.  
  
  
Fingon and the merman stared at each other in silence; the only sound that of the harsh breaths of the three humans. Even Aegnor’s mantra had gone quiet.  
  
  
Finrod broke the spell by hesitantly stepping closer.  
  
  
The merman recoiled instantly, baring his teeth and making an inhuman hissing noise. Finrod froze. “I need –” he sounded out in a placating tone. “I need to cut you free.”  
  
  
The merman didn’t react, eyes fixed on the knife Finrod was holding loosely by his side. But then he glanced over, only for a second, to Fingon, before returning those silver eyes to Finrod.  
  
  
“It was you.” Fingon said, hearing his own voice as if from very far away.  
  
  
That brought all the attention to him. He wavered momentarily, but persevered with articulating his thought.  
  
  
“You rescued me that evening,” he said, meeting the merman’s silver eyes steadfastly with his own blue ones. “Three months ago. You dragged me back to the boat and pushed me aboard.”   
  
  
There was a pause. Aegnor and Finrod’s eyes were wide and fixed on Fingon. The silence stretched.  
  
  
And then, slowly, but firmly, the merman nodded.  
  
  
Both of his cousins’ next breaths were sharp intakes, but Fingon felt as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He could have melted to the floor on the spot.  
  
  
Here. _Here_ was his guardian, his protector, his saviour. The one behind the gaze.  
  
  
“Thank you,” he said, “for saving my life.”  
  
  
There was another pause, and then the merman opened his mouth.  
  
  
“Your life,” the merman said, his voice the deep hum of a ringing musical note, “was not the sea’s to take.”  
  
  
Fingon’s heart could have beaten straight out of his chest. He wanted so badly to ask questions, to talk with the merman more, but the reality of the situation pressed down upon him.  
  
  
“The net needs to be cut away,” he said, instead of the torrent of questions on the tip of his tongue. “Will you let me do it?”  
  
  
The merman wavered, glancing around to Finrod and Aegnor, who were watching in stunned silence. Then he turned his gaze back to Fingon. “Yes,” he answered. “But only you.”  
  
  
Fingon swallowed and nodded. When he reached out his hand, Finrod quietly handed him the diver’s knife. Then he knelt down next to the merman, and gently reached out to cut him free.  
  
  
It was a big job, and it took a while. It felt like longer than it probably was, but soon the merman was loose. His cousins had been quietly pulling the remains of the net away from the two of them as Fingon cut it. The merman’s gaze never wavered from his face, not even when the knife had to saw away at parts of the net that cut into his human anatomy.  
  
  
Fingon breathed out shakily when he was done. “What about your wounds?” he asked quietly.  
  
  
The merman shook his head. “Already healed,” he answered, wiping away the blood along one of his cuts to show new pink skin. “We heal quickly.”  
  
  
Fingon nodded, more relieved than he could put into words, and shuffled back.  
  
  
The merman waited for one moment, looking at Fingon with an indescribable look, before reaching out for the sides of the boat with his strong arms, dragging his tail behind him.  
  
  
“Wait!” Fingon said before he could stop himself. When the merman paused, he felt a swoop in his gut as he hesitated before pressing on. “What’s your name?”  
  
  
The merman cocked his head. And then he smiled.  
  
  
Fingon was struck into dumbness by that smile, by how it made the merman radiant in his beauty. While he was struck dumb, the merman abandoned the side of the boat to lean closer. Fingon blinked into that handsome face, that beautiful smile turning almost mischievous, and then –  
  
  
The merman kissed him.  
  
  
It was just a press of salty wet lips on his, but Fingon felt like the merman had dragged his soul out of his body and caressed it, before pushing it back in. He startled, gasping as the merman pulled away.  
  
  
And then the merman was pulling himself up over the side, and glancing back towards the three humans one last time.  
  
  
“Maedhros,” said the merman. “That is my name.”  
  
  
And then the merman – Maedhros – was gone.   
  
  
There was a large splash of water, and the boat rocked heavily. Both Finrod and Aegnor – standing up – yelped as they quickly rebalanced themselves.   
  
  
“Well,” Aegnor said finally. “Nobody is ever gonna fucking believe us.”  
  
  
Left behind in the wake of Maedhros’ departure, Fingon touched his lips. They were still wet.  
  


  
– 

  
  
The journey back to harbour passed by in a blur for Fingon. His cousins got the boat back safely while Fingon sat on one of the benches in some sort of shock, of no help whatsoever. His lips wouldn’t stop tingling.  
  
  
It was Finrod patting his upper arm and tugging his sleeve upwards that broke the spell. “Fingon, you okay?” his cousin asked.  
  
  
“Fine,” Fingon heard his own voice as if from a distance. He blinked his way back into the present, leaving thoughts of silver eyes, red hair and that sinuous tail to drop into the background.   
  
  
He looked about himself, startled to realise that the harbour walls were rising up from the side of the boat, and that Aegnor was securing the ropes. Finrod stood beside him, looking worriedly down.  
  
  
“If you’re sure…” his cousin murmured.  
  
  
Fingon nodded sharply, and stood up. He felt as though he had been disturbed in the middle of a dream, and had been rudely awakened too early. But he mentally shook himself, trying to cast away the last dredges of his shock. “I am fine,” he repeated, stronger this time. “Sorry for being – distracted.”  
  
  
Finrod snorted softly. “As anyone would be,” he replied. Then he licked his lips, rolling his shoulders back. “We’ve still got to report that net,” he continued, “but I think that we’ll leave our… _encounter_ … out of it.”  
  
  
Aegnor barked out a still-disbelieving laugh from above. “Yeah,” he agreed, “let’s not get accused of snorting coke or something today, yeah?”  
  
  
Fingon made an agreeing hum. His eyes rested briefly on the large and tangled mass of net still on the deck.   
  
  
“I’ll go get the coastguard,” Aegnor said. “You two stay here.”  
  
  
Finrod and Fingon barely had time to agree before Aegnor was walking off.  
  
  
Fingon shifted where he stood. What did one _say_ , in such a situation? He could feel the anticipatory stare of Finrod as his cousin waited for him to speak.  
  
  
“So…” Finrod drawled out when the silence had become almost unspeakably awkward. “A merman?”  
  
  
“… Apparently so.” Fingon replied.  
  
  
“He saved you,” Finrod said. “And with just one look, you knew it was him.”  
  
  
Fingon fidgeted. What was Finrod accusing him of? Keeping the merman – _Maedhros_ – a secret?  
  
  
“Today was the first time I saw him,” Fingon said finally. “Same as you.”  
  
  
Finrod pounced on the implication instantly. “But you knew him? Or of him?”  
  
  
“No,” Fingon said. “I didn’t _know_. But I had a – thought? – suspicion? I don’t know. It’s… complicated, and a bit long.”  
  
  
Finrod took that in, his head tilting as he thought it over in his mind.   
  
  
Fingon interrupted whatever his cousin was going to say next. “Look, later, okay? We’ll talk about this later.”  
  
  
Finrod narrowed his eyes, but let it drop. “Later, then,” he said. “In private.”  
  
  
Fingon felt vastly relieved that his cousin had let it go (for now). He still needed to get it all straight in _his_ head.  
  
  
They let the silence creep back over them. Fingon turned his eyes back to the sea, almost unconsciously, watching the surface of the waves as they rolled into the harbour.  
  


  
–   
  


  
“He’s been watching you?” Finrod asked, when Fingon had finished outlining his tale.  
  
  
“Uh, I suspect?” Fingon replied. “Can’t be certain without asking, but – I think so. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it’s true. I just didn’t know what to make of it, or if it was all just in my head, y’know?”  
  
  
“Apparently,” Aegnor said flatly, “ _n_ _ot_ in your head.”  
  
  
“And what would any of you have said if I mentioned something earlier, before all this happened?” Fingon said, frustrated. “You can’t tell me you wouldn’t have said it was all in my imagination.”  
  
  
Finrod grimaced. “I suppose not,” he conceded. “But – it never felt _creepy?_ To be watched all the time?”  
  
  
Fingon understood where he was coming from. “Trust me, I know how it should have. I’ve often thought it myself. But I just never felt intimidated, not even at the beginning. I just felt _safe_. I can’t really explain it, but that’s the truth of the matter.”  
  
  
Aegnor hummed. “Well, considering our, uh, merman friend, saved your life… Eh, I suppose I can give him the benefit of the doubt.” Then he smirked at Fingon. “And let’s face it – you enjoyed that kiss.”  
  
  
Fingon flushed.  
  


  
–

  
  
“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Finrod asked as he and Fingon sat on a bench overlooking the harbour.  
  
  
“Maybe,” Fingon said, eyes on the rolling waves. “I hope so.”  
  
  
“What do you think he eats?” Finrod said, wonderingly. “Would it be fish? Or would that be offensive? He might be friends with the fish.”  
  
  
“What?” Fingon asked, utterly confused at the non-sequitur.   
  
  
“Well,” Finrod dipped his voice down teasingly, “you’ve got to bring him home to dinner with the parents, right? You can have a barbeque out in the garden; he can sit in your pond.”  
  
  
_“Finrod!”_ Fingon shoved his cousin off the bench.  
  
  
“Just saying!” Finrod laughed from the ground, getting up. “You’ve got to think about these things when you have a merman boyfriend.”  
  
  
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Fingon said, trying his best not to sound like an actor from a teen drama. “I have literally met him twice and the first time wasn’t exactly romantic.”  
  
  
“I think saving your life is very romantic,” Finrod answered.  
  
  
“Yeah, _in hindsight,”_ Fingon sighed. “At the time, I was just trying not to drown and wasn’t succeeding.” He tensed a little at the memory, because even if the strong hold that gripped him now had a new meaning, it still wasn’t a pleasant one.  
  
  
Finrod’s face fell more solemn. “Sorry,” he offered quietly, less energetic than before. “I didn’t mean to make light of it.”  
  
  
“Forgiven,” Fingon told him. Finrod was genuine in every way, and it was hard to stay mad at him when he apologised.   
  
  
“You know,” Finrod started softly, “there are walks around the area where we were sailing. You’d need good boots and a car to get to the start of them, but it is possible to trek along that coastline even if there are no proper beaches.”  
  
  
Fingon turned his eyes to his cousin. “Are you suggesting…?”  
  
  
“Well,” Finrod said, “you can’t go out in the _Silver Star_ all the time. And there’re caves along the cliffs there – your friend might live in one of those. Not easy to get to, of course, and I actually wouldn’t recommend it at all. But – if we see him, if we find a bit of land close to the water and safe enough to stand on. Just – think about it.”  
  
  
“He could still live at the bottom of the sea,” Fingon muttered in response.   
  
  
But the thought had been planted in his head.  
  


  
–

  
  
“I felt your approach,” said Maedhros.  
  
  
Fingon honestly had not expected to practically stumble upon the merman the first time he and Finrod went walking around that part of the coast.  
  
  
They’d get the lay of the land, they’d thought. Maybe some idea of where they could safely get close to the water’s edge when the coves were few and far between and not very accessible. Surely no more than that, the first trip.  
  
  
Maedhros seemed to exist to spite every expectation, though.  
  
  
He was sunning himself on a rock in a cove, long and languid and really far too beautiful; God, Fingon, get a _grip.  
_  
  
“Uh,” said Fingon.  
  
  
Maedhros hummed, twisting himself upright, tail wrapped around the rock. His silver eyes met Fingon’s steadily. “You have questions,” he prompted gently. “Ask them, Fingon, son of Fingolfin.”  
  
  
“Who are you?” Fingon found his voice, trying to speak firmly but not in an accusative tone. “And why were you watching me?”  
  
  
“I am Maedhros, son of Fëanor,” answered Maedhros, “and I watched you because you are my _fëa’limë,_ and I was both curious and wished to keep you safe. You were young when first I saw you and felt the Call; I couldn’t leave you unattended when you ventured into the domain of the sea.”  
  
  
Fingon didn’t know what to say to that, his questions all gone blank in his head at the swirling silver of Maedhros’ eyes. He wished, briefly, that he were not quite so affected by Maedhros’ presence; the way that every centimetre of his body seemed to light up and relax at his voice.  
  
  
“What does _fëa’limë_ mean?” Finrod asked, coming up behind Fingon and resting a steadying hand on his arm. Fingon hadn’t realised how much he’d needed it until he did.  
  
  
Maedhros’ attention shifted to Finrod. “You are Finrod,” he said. “Kinsman to Fingon.”  
  
  
“So I am,” Finrod said firmly, though not unkindly. “He is my younger cousin, and since you seem to have designs on him, I would like to know both what and why. Now, answer me; what does _fëa’limë_ mean?”  
  
  
“Finrod – ” Fingon started, strained –   
  
  
But Maedhros cut him off by saying, “The common translation of _fëa’limë_ into your human language of English is _soulmate_.”  
  
  
– and Fingon nearly choked on his tongue.  
  
  
“Soulmate?” Finrod asked sharply.  
  
  
Maedhros inclined his head, sweeping red curls, dried in the sun, slipping over his shoulders and collarbone. “Yes,” he confirmed, “soulmate.”   
  
  
Fingon cleared his throat, catching Finrod’s arm to stop him from talking, wanting to do it himself. “Humans don’t – soulmates are more of a – _fictional_ concept in human society,” he said. “Could you please explain, then, what exactly it means amongst your, uh, people, and what you expect from me?”  
  
  
Maedhros went quiet, his calm confidence for a moment undermined. “I see,” he said quietly. “I did not realise that humans had lost so much knowledge.”  
  
  
The merman cleared his throat, even that sound rumbling bass notes. “Humans still have a – _concept_ – of a _fëa’limë_ , do they not?” he asked.  
  
  
“Yes,” Finrod answered for Fingon, voice calmer now that Maedhros had backed off a little. “Soulmates feature most often in myths or stories, and generally tend to be understood as a romantic pair who are destined or fated to be. They are not considered, at least in these times, to actually be more than a story-telling device or trope. They are more _metaphor_ than anything.”  
  
  
“I understand,” Maedhros said softly. “Well, they are real. But as human-kind moved away from magic, they must have lost their ability the feel what we merfolk call _i Nahámë_ , which directly translates to ‘the Summons’, but more often ‘the Call’.”  
  
  
Maedhros took a breath and continued, “It is a feeling not unlike a pull of a rope dragging you away, but the rope is not physical. It tugs those rare lucky ones towards the other half of their soul, a match decided by forces greater than all of us. It pulled me here, towards Fingon.”  
  
  
Maedhros’ silver eyes stared directly into Fingon’s. “You are my _fëa’limë_ ; my _soul-link_. Without you, both of us are merely half of ourselves; incomplete.”  
  
  
Fingon gazed back into those eyes, entirely off-kilter. Not a single part of him doubted Maedhros’ words. In those scant seconds, they were the sole truth of the universe.  
  
  
“Hey now,” Finrod snapped, cutting through the gravity of the moment, startling Fingon back into his own head. “Don’t start with that kind of manipulative bullshit. I grant you that there is obviously something more here going on than mere fascination, but don’t give Fingon that kind of controlling language!”  
  
  
“I – what?” Maedhros seemed entirely startled.  
  
  
Fingon swallowed. He squeezed Finrod’s arm once again – his hand had never moved off of it – and spoke softly to the increasingly distressed merman.  
  
  
“Maedhros,” he said. The merman’s attention snapped to him immediately. “I’m sorry that there is a culture clash going on here, but Finrod has a point – soulmates don’t exist as more than stories for humans anymore. This whole – never going to be happy or _complete_ apart thing… Among humans, that is the kind of language that abusers use to manipulate their victims.”  
  
  
Fingon cringed at the look on Maedhros’ face. He quickly added on, knowing the truth of his words from the bottom of his heart, “Listen! I know that is not at all what you meant, what you intended – but this is new to us, to me. What is common and cultural fact amongst merfolk is not to us humans. There’s – inevitably going to be misunderstandings, miscommunication. This isn’t a personal attack on _you_ , I _promise_.”  
  
  
Maedhros remained silent for a few long moments. “I understand,” he said, mournfully. “My sincerest apologises, Fingon, son of Fingolfin. My words have been found cruel, and my manner wanting. I will accept your judgement if you find me undesirable as your link, and never bother you again.”  
  
  
He bowed his head and closed his eyes as Fingon struggled to parse through his words, looking defeated and shaken.  
  
  
As always, Finrod came to his rescue. “Fingon never said that he rejected you,” his cousin said firmly. “Only that communication would be vital should the two of you wish to pursue this – _relationship_.”  
  
  
Fingon felt a shock of intense fear run through him at his cousin’s words. “No!” he said quickly. “I did not mean to give such an impression, I _promise_ to you, I didn’t.”  
  
  
The thought of Maedhros disappearing into the waves forever, never to be seen or heard from again, was a thought so agonising that Fingon could barely conceive it. His heart felt like it had turned hollow in his chest, a gaping wound for the sea breeze to howl through.  
  
  
Surely, such a visceral reaction could only be what Maedhros had called _i Nahámë? The Call?  
_  
  
God, Fingon hadn’t been able to even start processing all of the conversation so far. Soulmates? Or _soul-link_ , as Fingon was relatively sure Maedhros had directly translated _fëa’limë_ into?  
  
  
But these were thoughts for later. Right now, there was a beautiful merman in utter despair before Fingon, who _needed to find the right words, damn it.  
_  
  
“Maedhros,” Fingon said, hoping that calling on him directly would make him lift his head. “Please, look at me.”   
  
  
Words could not describe the relief he felt when Maedhros looked up.   
  
  
“I forgive you your words,” Fingon told him. “They were not intended in the way that we took them, and I recognise that cultural miscommunication is going to be a factor that we will have to overcome _together_. We will _both_ do better in the future.”  
  
  
Maedhros looked like he barely dared to hope. “You would still be open to forging our link together?” he asked. “After my gross misstep?”  
  
  
A part of Fingon’s mind wondered how a person with fins could even have come across the word ‘misstep’, but more of his brain was focused on the wonder that bloomed on Maedhros’ face as he answered, “Yes.”  
  
  
Fingon slowly stepped forward, approaching the rock Maedhros has stretched out on. Finrod, kind cousin that he was, stepped back a little, giving them space while trying not to third-wheel too hard.  
  
  
Fingon hesitantly reached out to lay the palm of his hand on Maedhros’ arm, feeling the strangely smooth skin – not unlike a dolphin’s – and the scattering of harder scales here and there. Maedhros stayed perfectly still. He was cooler than Fingon to touch, and he sighed lightly at Fingon’s warmer hand.  
  
  
Their eyes met, blue and silver. Their touch was like fire that did not burn, fire that only nourished, ashes spread across the land ready to aid in new growth. A near-humming sound drowned out all the rest of Fingon’s thoughts, as he stuck his hope in his heart and reached towards Maedhros.  
  
  
Gently, careful of his talons, Maedhros reached back.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> First Silmarillion fic I've actually posted and they're not even elves in it. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Enjoy anyway!
> 
> I can also be found on [tumblr!](https://stairre.tumblr.com/) Come and say hello!


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